Erron Black vs McCree
by ColdCupoJoe
Summary: Hello again! This is another in my series of battles, unfortunately a hair on the short side, but this time including two of the grittiest cowboys this side of the River Styx! Erron Black, the Earthrealm mercenary from Mortal Kombat X against Jesse McCree of Overwatch fame. Hopefully I did both characters justice, and hopefully y'all enjoy!


Jesse McCree vs Erron Black

The sun beat relentlessly on the small western town of Tamewater, the dozen and a half buildings sticking out like an oasis in the desert heat. Spare a few drifting tumbleweeds and a hefty drunk man, the sole street through the middle of the town remained barren, the strange silence of the town only broken by jubilant piano music drifting from the tavern, the only two-story building in the settlement.

A lone man crested a mesa overlooking the small town, his Stetson hat drawn low over his dark brow, tufts of dark brown hair flowing in the wind along with his crimson cloak. A metallic, futuristic breastplate covered his torso, coming to a stop at his belt adorned with bullets and a hefty six-shooter. Finding his destination, the man reached into his belt with a cybernetic left arm, gingerly pulling out a cigar to stick into his mouth before starting down the cliffside.

The saloon doors swung open to a rowdy crowd, seemingly more people than the small town could reasonably house. Patrons sat laughing and cursing at tables playing cards, reminiscing over shots of unidentified liquor, and huddled around the piano sloshing their beers in the air. The cowboy's spurs rang as he sidled up to the bar's counter, stained with whiskey and tobacco.

"Ain't seen you around here, stranger, and I have a habit of knowing everyone who comes through these parts," the bartender said, pouring a small tower of whiskey glasses for a few patrons on the other side of the bar before swinging himself over to the cowboy. The bartender was a portly man, steely gray eyes hidden behind thick wire-framed glasses.

"Name's McCree," the cowboy said, eying the liquor bottles on the back wall. "Jesse McCree. You say you know everyone in town?"

"I aim to," the bartender said, pulling down a brown bottle that McCree's eyes had lingered on and pouring him a shot glass full. McCree tossed a few dollars on the counter in recompense.

"Then do you know a man by the name of Erron Black?" As McCree said the name, the saloon fell silent. The cowboy kept his eyes trained on the bartender, who placed the drink in front of him, keeping his head down.

Without a word, the bartender nodded his head down the counter, past a group of wide-eyed ranch hands who parted as McCree turned his gaze. Beyond the group of people sat a man clad in leather straps and a red cloak, not unlike the one McCree was wearing, and a dark brown Stetson hat shading his face, covered up to his cheekbones by a leather mask, revealing piercing eyes obscured by his darkened eye sockets. The man looked loaded for bear, a pair of revolvers on his hip, what looked like glass grenades on his belt, a lever action rifle slung across his back, and what appeared to be a sword made of bone parallel to the rifle.

"Depends on who's asking," the masked man muttered, spinning a gold coin on the stained bar.

"That's business between me and the man," McCree pounded the glass of bourbon, sizing up the stranger.

"You see," McCree continued, finger brushing the holster of his Peacekeeper on his belt, "Mr. Black has accrued quite a long trail of bodies in these parts, and justice tends to find a man like that."

The masked man slammed the gold coin flat against the counter, almost causing McCree to instinctively draw, but he kept himself composed. The rest of the patrons weren't quite as steeled, as everyone but the bar tender began rushing out of the saloon, the friendly patrons now elbowing each other to ensure each own's safety. The bartender, hands raised, had been witness to too many brawls as he walked backwards past the liquor shelf and out the back door.

"You sure know how to clear a room," McCree looked around, fingers creeping closer to the gun on his hip. The outlaw clocked his hand, however, and pulled his own revolver, targeting the cowboy, causing McCree to draw as well. The air was dead still as neither gunman backed down nor pulled the trigger, the floorboards creaking under each of their shifting weight.

"Now tell me why you're really here," the stranger stated, slowly moving away from the bar, keeping his body turned but his gun trained on McCree, "as well as a reason not to kill you right here right now."

"Why's it always gotta go like this," McCree mumbled half to himself, standing his ground but rotating his aim to keep it trained on the stranger's heart.

"Who sent you to kill me, assassin?" the masked cowboy cocked the hammer back on his pistol, his blackened eyes piercing into McCree's.

"So you are Mr. Black," McCree surmised, "as a show of good faith, let me introduce myself. The name's McCree…"

"Introductions over," the masked gunman interrupted, halting his own footsteps as he reached the center of the room.

A shot cracked through the bar as Erron Black pulled the trigger of his revolver, the muzzle flash lighting up the dim bar. McCree rolled parallel to the counter as the bullet slammed into the bar, before popping up and firing a quick 3 shots at his attacker. Black kicked up a poker table to take cover behind, sending poker chips and playing cards flying. The bullets pierced through the wooden table, sending shards of wood splintering but missing the outlaw.

"You still breathing?" McCree's voice echoed throughout the bar, the sound of empty casings hitting the ground the only sound in the eerily quiet saloon. A quick two more shots rang out as Erron shot blindly over the top of his cover, looking side to side for more permanent cover.

"Why don't you come over here and find out?" Black shouted. He looked through one of the bullet holes in the table, not being able to spot the opposing cowboy anywhere. After reloading his revolver he holstered it, pulling his lever-action rifle from his back.

The masked cowboy tossed his hat in the air, which immediately was filled with bullet holes but gave Erron time to roll to the side and spot his assailant behind the bar. He popped off a few shots, slamming the lever back and forth as the rifle kicked at his hip. One of his shots found its mark in McCree's left shoulder, but was answered with a metallic _CLANG_ as it struck the top of his metal arm.

To Erron's dismay, McCree was not stunned by the shot as he pulled his attention away from the falling hat and fired the last shot in his gun at the running outlaw, finding its mark at the rifle itself, shattering the lever mechanism. Black ducked behind a thick column, closing in on the bar, throwing his broken rifle down in frustration and once again pulling out one of his revolvers as well as the small glass orb full of sand from his belt.

McCree crouched on the other side of the bar, reloading his peacemaker, cursing at himself for falling for the hat distraction. He noticed that Black had been slowly closing the distance, but he was determined to not let him fight as his preferred range.

McCree popped over the counter again, firing a quick succession of shots, chipping away at the pillar, realizing it was too thick to be able to shoot all the way through. As he reached his sixth shot however, the cowboy slipped another two shots into the cylinder of his pistol, keeping them unfired but ready for a surprise.

Just as he suspected, Erron jumped from the pillar as the sixth shot was fired, shooting his own revolver, but also threw a small glass orb at the cowboy. McCree wasted no time in using his metallic arm to fan the hammer on his pistol, popping one shot off at the mercenary and one at the airborne grenade. His first shot struck Black in the shoulder, blood spraying onto the still upright tables but not slowing the outlaw down, and the second shattered the orb, causing a small explosion of sand to shower over him.

McCree staggered backwards, blinking quickly to get the sand out of his eyes. Through his blinks he saw snapshots of the advancing outlaw, firing shots before jumping over the counter to join McCree behind the bar. Jesse ducked and weaved to avoid the deadly end of Black's gun, although not quite agile enough as he was clipped in his upper thigh, sending him to one knee.

McCree grunted in pain as he rose, his eyes squinted at Black only a few feet away in plain view.

"Skills like yours could make a pretty penny with the Kahn," Black stated, rubbing the bullet wound in his shoulder.

"If the Kahn is as good a company as you are, I think I'll have to pass," McCree responded, the sand finally clearing from his vision.

"Shame I have to put you down," a small smile cracked under the mask of the outlaw as he charged fists raised. McCree could only raise his arms in defense as Black began to unleash a fury of strikes.

Right hook to the cybernetic arm.

Left jab to the shoulder.

Right jab to the chest.

Kick to the pelvis.

McCree tanked every hit as he felt each blow slowly break him down. His eyes focused on his assailant for any possible opening for him to take.

He saw his chance as the masked outlaw took a fraction of a second to reach for the bone sword from his back. As he reached, McCree threw his cybernetic fist forward, connecting with Black's sternum and sending him flying onto his ass.

"Hold up there!" McCree called out, reaching for his belt and throwing out a flashbang grenade, exploding in Black's face as he sat up. The blinding flash stunned the downed outlaw, giving McCree time enough to stagger to his feet, a bit dazed from the beating.

"It's high noon…" McCree mumbled, eyes squinted to focus in on his target. His hand hovered above his holstered pistol for a brief second before jetting downward and pulling.

Erron Black came to just in time to see the opposing cowboy reach for his gun. In a panic, he kicked himself backwards, sliding through a swinging door of the bar into the main area of the saloon. McCree wasn't prepared for Erron's reaction, as his bullets slammed into the floor where he was and subsequently into the bar, leaving the outlaw untouched.

McCree gritted his teeth at his misprediction, but his attention was caught by a small coin flipping through the air on the other side of the bar. Transfixed, he barely heard the crack of a gunshot, or feel the subsequent trickle of blood running down his face.

Erron Black rose beyond the counter, catching the coin as it fell, a fresh dent in the currency from the ricocheted bullet. He saw his assailant's look of shock before he collapsed onto his face, dead.

"Like that new hole?" Erron joked, sliding over the counter to grab a sealed bottle of whiskey and kick the cowboy's corpse. Pulling his gun again, he unloaded one more round into the back of the downed gunslinger, the body only flinching from the force of the gunshot. Black smiled before cracking the top of the bottle, taking a swig as he left the trashed saloon.

Winner: Erron Black

Stay tuned for Indominus Rex vs Sharktopus some time in the future! Upload speed will be a bit slower now that the semester has begun, but better slow than never.


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